


the things we wear for love

by Meatball42



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Compromise, Consensual Sex, Corsetry, M/M, Rough Sex, Wearing a Corset & Hating It (Too Bad Their Partner Thinks It's The Hottest Thing Ever)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-06 12:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20291119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: Bucky hates wearing the corset—hates it. But he wears it anyway, because of what it does to Steve.





	the things we wear for love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaeni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaeni/gifts).

“Fuck, Jesus, you’re so goddamned hot in this thing, I can’t, fuck, fuck!”

Bucky’s metal hand tore a hole in the pillow as he fought to stay in his right mind. Steve was fucking him like an animal, fast and hard and relentless, one hand on Bucky’s shoulder and the other touching every inch of the corset that was currently compressing Bucky’s midsection. He buried his face in the pillow so Steve wouldn’t see his expression.

“Bucky, oh, ohh!”

A burst of even heavier thrusts cause Bucky to grit his teeth and widen his stance. The corset didn’t allow him to arch his back too much, so it was a constant struggle to keep his ass at the right angle, while not letting Steve ride him down to the mattress.

Steve leaned over Bucky’s back, planting a hand right by his face for leverage. He switched from the wild pace to something slower, and deeper. The new position allowed him to slide in until his body, from knees to chin, was flush against Bucky’s skin. He moved his hips sinuously, almost like a wave, to keep up a smooth in-and-out.

Any other time, Bucky would be groaning in agonizing pleasure. This was normally one of his favorite ways to get fucked. But the corset dug into his hips, scratched under his arms, and—when Steve would eventually press him flat into the mattress, because he did every time they did this—made him feel like he couldn’t breathe.

And yet… he allowed it. For this—

“Oh God Bucky, oh fuck, you’re so fuckin’, oh, Bucky—”

—and other insensate babbling that Steve wouldn’t even remember after he came, in his words, “hard enough to turn my brains to mush.”

To which Bucky would reply, of course, “You mean they’re not already?”

And then Steve would smile, looking like… well, there was nothing quite as good as coming so hard your brains turned to mush, so like that. And it was such a good look on him, and Bucky loved,  _ loved, _ seeing Steve get the thing that made him that happy.

So he allowed this.

Steve cried out wordlessly, right in Bucky’s ear. Bucky ignored that, focusing on the push-up position he had to keep up with at least one arm in order to keep breathing. Steve stopped fucking him, only moving his hips slowly, without coordination. He slumped over Bucky, panting and moaning in his ear.

Steve wasn’t normally so loose, so open, in bed. He didn’t normally swear. When he did speak, it was in complete sentences, and it was usually compliments or asking to change position. He didn’t normally moan freely, and he didn’t manhandle Bucky nearly so much.

Bucky was face-down in a pillow that was leaking feathers, chafed and bruised and half-suffocated, and he smiled.


End file.
